Go Forth
If you get past
the bouncer
at the door
to The Mystery –
he’s actually pretty
affable,
just needs to check
your ID
to see if you’re old enough
to have outgrown
the need to
deny the existence of
Magic –
if he lets you
inside,
you will be asked to
swear an oath,
in the name of
your favorite
Enchanter,
that you will
go forth and cast
beneficent
spells.
Weirdos Like You
The entrance is
a portal to
a Mystery
wrapped in a fog cape.
But it’s a
Real Place.
Someone got in and
found
the first riffs to
that song you love.
Another daydreamed
their way in,
made some notes, and
wrote that book you’re reading
for the seventh time.
Someone else went in
empty-handed
and came out with
The Best Movie
You’ve Ever Seen.
Do you think
only a handful of
Chosen Ones
can find
The Secret Portal?
Weirdos like you
get in
all the time.
It’s possible to
live in there
for days.
But there’s this guy
near the entrance
wearing a nametag
that says:
“Get Real.”
He’s handing out
free maps.
Ignore him.
Foolishness
Why do we submit
to the tyranny
of Doing Something?
“It’s such a
luscious day,
I should be:
__________________”
You know how you
SHOULD
fill in that
empty space.
What if,
instead,
you challenge that
SHOULD
to a duel at twenty paces.
Then you turn,
stride off,
count to twenty
and . . .
just keep going.
Give It a Rest
So God sits down
on the Seventh Day
to rest,
(though Time is of no Essence.)
Cup of coffee and
cinnamon roll in hand,
surveying the
Extravaganza.
Over yonder
a tower of giraffes
loping the savanna,
beyond that
the North Rim of the Canyon,
just before you get to
soon-to-be
Waikiki,
on the way to Mount Fuji.
Circle back to
Jimi at Monterrey Pop,
hop over to the Globe where
Will is doing a dress rehearsal
of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Down there Socrates is
handing out programs,
over here Dr. J
is slammin’
from the free-throw line.
Speaking of which
God slams down her
cup so hard it cracks.
Who in Hell
are these fools
going around with
a spray can painting
“Sacred” or “Profane,”
“Holy” or “Worldly”
all over
everything?
We Must Insist
Why on earth
would you settle
for “reality?”
At the very least,
upon arising,
insist that your reality
clothe itself in
garments of Mystery,
so the atmosphere
around you is thick
with
spirits and sprites,
angels and the
soulfulness of creatures,
the furry ones and
the green leafy ones.
And, while we’re on it,
Beloved Ones,
why on earth
would you settle
for only nature and “natural,”
when “artifice”
doesn’t only beget “artificial,”
but gives birth to
artisans and artists
who weave
those garments
of Mystery
we must insist upon.
(Photo Credit: Christina Spiliotopoulou)
Measuring Up
Let’s say
you are walking
a trail called Mystery,
new to you,
toward the sound
of rushing water.
You come upon
a stream,
carelessly diving
a hundred feet
into a pool.
Would you pick
a wildflower,
perhaps a calypso bulbosa,
a fairy slipper,
and try to measure
the velocity of a waterfall,
one plucked petal
at a time?
And yet you measure
your morning,
spent trifling
with words
on a page,
falling far short
of the number of
industrious retorts
from the nailgun
across the street.
(Photo credit, Michael Massi, via Flickr)
Listmaking
I’m making an
incomplete list of
The Intoxicating and
Mysterious Luminosity of
What Is.
Maybe I’ll start with
The Spotted Cat Club,
Frenchmen Street,
New Orleans.
I think I’ll end with
Jailhouse Rock, Elvis,
before white leather and sequins.
Somewhere, in between,
weddings and wedding nights,
births and deaths,
big white dogs and
calico cats,
the Salish Sea,
the astonishment of bodies.
Someone singing at the foot of
the Eiffel Tower
at midnight on the Seine.
(Go ahead, make your own list.)
Now I will divide the list,
religiously,
like God, it is said, will divide
the sheep from the goats,
the sacred from the profane,
the saved from the lost.
Or, maybe,
I’ll see what happens
if I don’t.